


We Should Just Kiss Like Real People Do

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Songfic, post armageddidn't, remembering old times, soft bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 10:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19374958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: So I will not ask you where you came fromI would not ask and neither would youHoney, just put your sweet lips on my lipsWe should just kiss like real people doAziraphale and Crowley go to Crowley's flat after Armageddidn't to share in some memories.





	We Should Just Kiss Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> Like Real People Do, by Hozier.
> 
> These boys are so Soft and so am I

Crowley watched as Aziraphale sank into the couch in his flat— he knew it wasn’t very comfortable, but the angel was very obviously tired. Crowley, too, was tired; they’d just stopped the world from ending. 

He dropped down next to Aziraphale. “I’ll get tea in a minute,” he muttered.

Aziraphale’s head was tilted back. “I’m not even sure I could _drink_ tea right now.” 

Crowley picked up his bent head and lowered his glasses. “Wine?”

“Oh, heavens, no.” He winced at his own words. Sore subject, that one. 

“…water?”

“Can one drink sleep?” 

Crowley guffawed, and was glad to see Aziraphale crack a smile at that. “Nah, angel, that’s something you have to _do_.” 

“Shame.” The angel chuckled. “Can you be too tired to sleep?” 

“Sure,” Crowley answered, tipping to the right, swinging his legs up when his head landed on the arm of the couch. He kept them bent, feet on the cushions. Aziraphale’s hand slipped from his lap, landed next to Crowley’s foot. 

They spent a moment in exhausted silence. 

Which, of course, Crowley’s mind filled with thoughts of the past. The Beginning. 

“Hey, angel,” he started, before he could think better of it. Aziraphale’s head lifted off the back of the couch immediately, eyes opening. “D’you remember the Garden?” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows bunched together. “Yes?” 

Crowley remembered too. He remembered his first view of the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, walking peacefully around the holy verdant place. He remembered the way the ground was cool beneath his scales. The bugs that flitted around, eventually moving towards Adam and Eve, who let them rest on their arms before gently shooing them off. He remembered the angel kneeling, hands plunging into the dirt. 

He wanted to ask what the angel had been looking for, but couldn’t find the words. Perhaps he shouldn’t, anyways. 

“Wild days, those ones.”

Aziraphale’s hand lifted to rest on Crowley’s knee. “Quite literally.” 

They shared a smile.

“Remember Wessex?” 

Crowley snorted. Of course he remembered Wessex. He remembered the look in Aziraphale’s eyes— the same quiet searching that had shown itself in those Beginning Days. He remembered their audience, but he also remembered later that night, after dusk had fallen, the angel returning to the same spot without armor. The same look in his eyes, the same question, one that Crowley couldn’t quite hear over the noise of the world. 

Words weren’t necessary. Questions shouldn’t always be asked. Answers weren’t always meant to be heard. 

“ ‘Course I do, angel.” 

“Mmm.” 

He reached up, brushed the edge of Aziraphale’s hand with his fingers. The angel’s hand twitched towards his. Their eyes met. A beat of silence. 

“I, uh…” Crowley cleared his throat. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

“That’s a good idea,” Aziraphale murmured, smoothing his hands over his thighs. 

“Oh, I can sleep out here if you want the bed,” Crowley said immediately, “it’s no problem.”

Aziraphale gave him a small, indulgent smile. “I rather think we can share a bed after all this time.”

Crowley swallowed. “Right then.” He swung his legs off the couch and stood, wobbling slightly, the angel’s hand reaching out to his elbow to steady him. “Follow me.”

The angel did, and then they stood in the doorway to his room. His bed looked uncomfortable, but was actually quite soft, despite the look of it. Black satin sheets covered the plush mattress, shining like waves on the sea. 

“Well, I usually sleep kind of towards the right, so—“ 

Aziraphale turned Crowley around with a hand at the elbow, just strong enough that it startled Crowley a bit. 

He had that same look in his eyes. Hungry, questioning, curious, searching for answers. It silenced Crowley. Aziraphale did not talk for a long moment. 

When he did, it was to say, “Can I take off your sunglasses?”

Crowley nodded. He didn’t trust his own voice. 

Aziraphale’s hands were extremely gentle. They shook a tiny bit, which surprised Crowley. But his fingers barely skated over Crowley’s skin, and then his glasses were on the dresser just next to the door. 

When he turned back to Crowley, his eyes still had that seeking tint to them. But now he was searching directly in Crowley, and Crowley didn’t know how to hold everything back, and the angel had to be doing _something_ , because Crowley couldn’t look away and he couldn’t lie. 

When Aziraphale said it, it baffled Crowley. And it seemed like it baffled Aziraphale too. 

“I _love_ you, Crowley.” 

A beat of silence, and a twitch of Aziraphale’s brow, and then Crowley remembered he should probably say something. 

“I—uh, I mean I—“ 

“That’s alright, then,” Aziraphale said, eyes dropping, body turning to the side to slip past the demon. Crowley felt the loss of the angel’s hand at his elbow. He’d forgotten it was there, for a moment. 

He reached out suddenly, hand catching on hand, and the angel was tugged to face him. 

“No! I mean— dammit. I love you too.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes changed from disappointment to question to joy, and then he was tugging Crowley towards the bed with him, walking backwards, hands shaking but legs steady. 

Crowley let himself be pulled. He pushed the angel’s coat off his shoulders, kept walking with him as they stumbled over it, shucked his own coat off, braced his arms for Aziraphale’s fall into the mattress. 

He did fall, and with an “ _oof_ ” that struck Crowley as strangely adorable. The angel smiled up at the demon, who smiled back. Hands came up to frame Crowley’s face, eyes met his.

Equally tired and joyful eyes met, and Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s wrist in his hand, nearly shuddering. 

Aziraphale reached up, eyes closing, and touched their lips together. Crowley savored the sweet feeling— the first sweet thing he’d ever savored— before pushing back against the angel tenderly. He felt his jaw loosen, his brow curve up at the center, his free hand framing the angel’s neck as he lowered himself to his elbows. He tried to pour his love into this kiss. 

From the tiny, happy, weak sounds Aziraphale was making, he was succeeding. 

He pulled back, letting go of Aziraphale’s wrist, tracing the fingers of both hands over the angel’s face, taking note of where lines deepened. Aziraphale stared back up at Crowley, seemingly transfixed by his eyes, a wide smile over his lips. 

Crowley leaned down, his fingers still over Aziraphale’s cheekbone and jaw, and pressed a second kiss to the angel’s lips. It was soft. It was unbearably gentle, and Crowley felt like he was breaking apart when he left it there. 

Aziraphale said nothing, but opened his eyes slowly, like a devotee coming out of a trance. 

Words weren’t necessary. Questions didn’t always need to be asked. Answers weren’t always vocalized to be heard.


End file.
